


Skyward Souls

by MischiefJoKeR



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Denial of Feelings, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Is it considered one-sided when neither side knows what's going on, M/M, Skyloft gossip, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-15 22:25:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10558704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MischiefJoKeR/pseuds/MischiefJoKeR
Summary: The Goddess gifts each child of Skyloft a marking on the back of their hand, bearing the name of their chosen soulmate. Link has learned to not let it dictate his life, especially now that he has a more important quest to go on. Besides, what could he do when his soulmate wasn't a resident of Skyloft? World-building, Ghiralink, rating could go up later and diverge from plot of Skyward Sword.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this a year ago and forgot to post it anywhere. Also on FF.net under different username. I more or less forgot where I was going with this but I can throw in some more messes because there is not enough good writing for this pairing and I need more of it in my life.
> 
> TBH I've been so lazy with writing for the past like 3 years so as much as I want to say this might update I can't be sure. I have a couple other LoZ stories posted on https://www.fanfiction.net/u/7390016/crimsondong

The people of Skyloft were always blessed by the Goddess. Her oasis in the sky never had poor weather, only sunny days and cool nights. Her loftwings were always healthy and came to their masters as hatchlings, as devoted to her people as her people were to her. The island was the only thing her people knew, for the knowledge of the surface was hidden away in fear for her blessed children falling beneath the cloud layer, and therefore hiding away the land once ravaged by war and demons.

The most obvious blessing was her elegant script written on the back of every Skyloftian’s hand when they came of age. The people above the clouds were given a name: another that shared a piece of their being. The soulmate was a miraculous gift, and when the people met their other halves, happiness was sure to bloom. Inseparable in mind and spirit, the two could act as one and compliment each other’s strengths and weaknesses.

The Skyloftians were also a small people, and thus, everybody knew everybody. When someone’s name appeared in that dainty scrawl over their hand, glimmering gold like drying ink, the bearer would certainly know with who their fate was entwined.

It was considered impolite to talk to someone about their soulmate. And yet everyone carried on talking.

Link could barely stand it. Every day of childhood was spent with whispers of the class about their soulmates. Of one-time dates that had people murmuring “they can’t possibly be my soulmate.” There was always a telling time when a young boy or girl came to class wearing a pair of gloves, looking out the window to avoid the eyes boring to the back of their head and hands. Watching as two people that had never spoken before suddenly became the best of friends. For a boy-meets-girl to actually occur with a simple hello, whether one of them wore gloves or not. For years to pass as friends, through pairs of gloves, before one night before the statue of the goddess the two would tug off their glove and say what they had each known since their coming of age.

It was equally impolite to share who your soulmate was.

When Link received the name over his hand, part of him always knew it would never be Zelda. They were the best of friends, and he had heard plenty of whispers behind trees and shop stands. Her smile was radiance, her laugh contagious, and her company the best Link could ask for. Without a family of his own, he had found one with the golden haired girl. But he knew it couldn’t be her. His love for her was already too deep, and his happiness already bloomed with every morning they shared flying through the clouds before eating lunch in the mess hall. Being her soulmate would be too convenient. When Zelda met him in the hall before class that one day, white gloves slipped over her hands, and a sad smile on her face, Link could only smile back and offer to buy her lunch in town that day. He pretended not to see her sob from behind her bangs. He pretended to be as surprised as her, but it wasn’t in his nature to lie to himself. He treated her no less than before, and let their friendship bloom regardless of a gift from the goddess.

Groose was one of the last of their class to walk into the room wearing gloves. Always boasting and parading, waiting with no patience for the day he would finally know. He made no small task of winking to the blond girl on the other side of the room when he walked in. He made a show of staying two steps behind Zelda at every turn. He absolutely made it quite clear that he would win the heart of the headmaster’s daughter, that they were destined for each other, and that Link was just a thing to be tossed aside. With no more than a glower from the older, more traditional teachers, everyone knew.

 

Link was shoved out from the training hall, nearly tripping over the step outside the double doors. Groose, Cawlin, and Stritch sauntered out, chuckling in their throats.

“Make way, little kid. Don’t have to always rush off to go see my destined soulmate after class. You’re starting to look a bit desperate, bud, I don’t want anyone hounding after my lady.”

Link rolled his eyes, continuing his pace. It had become common for Groose to invade his time with Zelda on their breaks from class.

“Groose!” Zelda stood with her hands on her hips at the archway to the academy.  
“Yes, my dear?” The knight in training ran a hand over his pompadour, setting it into place, though not improving how it looked. Cawlin and Stritch held back giggles. Zelda’s scowl deepened.

“What have I told you about bothering Link?” Link frowned at Zelda, shaking his head slightly, but was beat to the response by Groose’s annoyed grumble. “Just because you think you’re entitled to spend time with me doesn’t mean I want to. Especially when you’re being nothing but a bully!”

“B-but Zelda…”

“Link and I are going to lunch! Your ego will have to find room in someone else’s business!” Zelda grabbed Link by the arm and marched down the pathway into town, his eyes wide and blue. Sitting in the grass overlooking the waterfall, lunches half finished, Link finally spoke.

“It’s really fine, you know. That he wants to spend time with you.”

“It isn’t fine.” Zelda nearly cut him off. Link looked up from the loose string of his glove to see the girl giving him a hard glare. “People here think just because they know who the goddess chose as their soulmate, means that they can disregard other people’s feelings to get what they want.” Link averted his gaze, looking back towards the water across from the pair. Zelda gave a sigh, her tense shoulders sagging. “I…I know we’ve mentioned it. Things would be easier if…it were that way, but it isn’t. Everyone knows Groose is my soulmate and that I’m his. That doesn’t mean we’re meant for each other _now_. I won’t throw away my happiness. If I’m meant to love him, he has a long way to go.”

“Don’t make this about me.” Link said almost in a whisper. The admission was even a surprise to himself as he heard it voiced. When had he become a wedge in his best friend’s happiness and soulmate? His leather covered hand was lifted from the other, held tightly between both of Zelda’s white satin.

“I can’t stop people from thinking what they think. I won’t let this soulmate business dictate my own destiny. Having someone’s name on your hand doesn’t mean we need to change who we are. And I would never be with someone that bullies, so I won’t be.”

“How can you expect people to change?”

“I can only hope the goddess is right about him.”

 

Link had never let his soulmate dictate who he was, as Zelda said. It wasn’t by his choice, per say, but more of a necessity. The nagging was always in the back of his mind, the curiosity of what was to happen to bind him to his destined other half. He flew around the sky running errands between times of classes. Eagus would give him extra sword practice if he picked up his lunch, so the Lumpy Pumpkin was a good place to ease his mind. The whispering of his classmates couldn’t reach him there, the older adults of Skyloft and its scattered islands remaining quiet.

“Afternoon, Link! Just on time!” The owner bellowed, “The soup is just about done. I’ve got a bit extra if you help my Kina in the yard for a minute. Won’t be long! Need to build up your bulk anyway!” With a smile, Link nodded and let his feet take him to the door at the back of the shop. Link set about helping Kina carry new pumpkins to the storage behind the orange building, chatting amiably about classes and patrons of the restaurant.

“Maybe I’ll get dad to let me take combat classes at the academy too. They offer them to non-knight students every summer.” She smiled, and then punched Link in the arm after he’d set down the pumpkin he held. “You’d have to teach me all your stuff when _you’re_ a knight! Eagus says you’re getting better than his senior class with the sword. If he can teach you, maybe I can teach you how to sing!”

Link smiled and laughed with her, heading back inside to get their soup.

Some days he really wished he had Kina’s name.

 

Following Horwell to the market happened fewer mornings than when he was younger. As a small knight in training, Link loved to borrow texts from Instructor Horwell, and the man had practically helped raise him on the island after his parents’ deaths. Their trip to the market was sometimes only for conversation with the shopkeepers, reporting any problems to the headmaster himself. Other times it was to retrieve books and supplies from the storage room. When Link got older, the workers changed along with the times. Now those few afternoons when he followed Horwell, offering to carry some of the heavier books up the steps of the academy, he visited the storage shop.

Peatrice was a quiet girl. Most Skyloftians were owners of few possessions, keeping them within their homes. The most common people to visit the shop were the instructors themselves, leaving schoolbooks and lab tools out of the way of nosey students until they were needed. Thus, Peatrice did not speak to many people often, just walked past and ignored in the tent of vibrant colors and sellers. After those few afternoons of hauling outdated lesson plans out of storage and making room for an expired class’s books, the young girl spoke a bit more. It was the small things: what classes these books were for, when the pair needed to get back to the academy, and eventually more into the classes Link was taking. She would stammer for the first few minutes of their talking, and soon they were both alphabetically placing the books within a locker, Link speaking of what he had read in a few of the books he put away. He was a man of few words, but his own curiosity made him happy to ease another’s.

Peatrice had a secret smile that Link only saw a handful of times, accompanied by a blush on her cheeks. Beneath the sour disposition, she was a sweet girl. Her soulmate would be lucky to have that smile and curiosity every day.

It wasn’t Link, though. Their conversations were kept short once the rumors began.

 

It wasn’t the first time someone had juggled the idea of people’s soulmates not matching. First it had been Zelda, and soon it came around Cawlin as well. The stout boy had already dealt with enough verbal abuse, following Groose around, but after his frankly obvious following of Karane like a lost remlet, word spread quickly. The blue haired boy was convinced. He showed no one any proof, but was convinced that Karane was indeed his soulmate, regardless of the laughter from his peers. Through the walls of the academy at night, Link could hear his whispered objections and absolutions. It was not his fault he felt the gravitational pull to the upperclassman. Not his fault he wasn’t who the red-head seemed to be smitten with. Karane was strong-willed and regal for someone as much of a tomboy as herself. She was admirable, and well-liked. Cawlin, the opposite.

Cawlin finally admitted this pull, a deep longing somewhere in his soul, when he confronted Karane in the classroom. She nearly laughed him off. From where Link mopped the hallway, he grew annoyed, but silent. A silent onlooker like the older Skyloftians with their traditions being broken, bitter and displeased with the impoliteness of their talk. It was then that Cawlin’s broken sobs were met with a quiet gasp. Peering into the room, Link saw the uncovered hand of Cawlin turned away from where he watched, the back facing Karane’s wide and shocked face. Her gaze unmoving, she slipped away the smooth suede of her own glove and turned her own dainty hand his direction, mouthing the word:

“Pipit.”

Link retreated behind the plant in the hallway and Cawlin hurried from the room, face red and aimed down at his rushing feet. Karane didn’t leave the room, and Link slowly moved the opposite way down the hallway, passing the yellow-clad upperclassman on his way.

“Hey Link, how goes the studying? The wing ceremony isn’t the only test to worry about, you know.”

Link gave him a forced smile, and simply pointed towards the classroom, and went back into his room before the boy could respond.

By morning the upperclassmen were inseparable, and Cawlin was nowhere to be found.

 

Amidst all the talk and the secret of mismatched soulmates, Link found himself sitting at his desk looking at his hands. He always thought it would appear on his dominant right hand, but the scrawl appeared over his left, instead. Still some days he found himself looking at the back of his right hand as if expecting something to appear there if he looked hard enough. Instead he would have to look at the leather of his left hand, not wanting to peer at the uncovered flesh.

Years ago, Horwell came to retrieve Link when he was late for class only to find the boy, freshly fifteen, staring at the back of his hand in a daze. When the door clicked shut, the youth covered the spot with his right hand, staring at his instructor with a lost expression. He still felt it deep in his soul, wherever his second half was meant to be. Horwell instructed him to wait and left the room. Agonizing minutes later, the brunette reappeared, offering Link a pair of leather gloves.

“I don’t think not having gloves is what prevented you from getting to class, Link. You never oversleep for this class.” He took the chair at the desk near the young boy’s bed, watching him closely. Link shook his head, opening his mouth to explain and only stopping short after several breaths.

“I don’t know…”

Horwell held up a hand, silencing the boy, and he pulled his own glove off to the shock of the young man. Over the back of the older man’s hand, instead of the delicate golden script, it was stained black like a burn. _Amalia._ Link removed his eyes to look into the depths of his instructor’s, his caretaker’s.

“I will not pry, Link. You’re an adult, and a trustworthy one. Just know that this loneliness you are feeling is a side effect. You can grow past it and fill this feeling with others. This one person, they cannot ever be your world, or you will forget the rest of the world surrounding you.”

At the silence of the blue eyed boy, Horwell stood.

“Some of us need to learn to live with that aching.” By the time Link processed his words, the man had left the room.

Link didn’t go to his classes that day, instead staring at the gloves in his lap and waiting for the moment he was ready to put them on for what could be the rest of his life.

 

At the coming of the Wing Ceremony, Link turned seventeen. The graduating class was planning their celebrations, careers, and even their own ceremonies. Plenty loved the traditional motif of confessing their soulmate under the goddess statue, tossing their gloves off the platform and watching them fall beneath the clouds. Others simply carried on as they were, without the theatrics, but some took to planning. The city of Skyloft was atwitter with all the festivities of spring coming along. Zelda had been busily sewing at her gift to award the graduating knight, upperclassmen buried their noses in books for their final exams, and Link’s class flew from dawn to dusk on their loftwings.

As Link slept in that day, he told himself again and again what Zelda had said nearly a year prior, and what Horwell had told him over two ago. He was in control of his destiny, not whoever had the second piece of his soul. And his destiny today was to win the Wing ceremony and become a knight in Skyloft. He dropped his head back onto the pillow, laying his hand over his forehead, almost feeling the letters against his skin even through the glove. He was starting to feel it. There was an ache, like longing, pulling at his lungs and ribcage. Emotions could range from restlessness to sorrow in an instant, tears threatening to bubble over at the most inconvenient of times.

When Zelda’s loftwing pushed open his window and none-so-gently roused him from bed, he prepared himself for a change in the tide. He walked to the door, hand hovering over the doorknob in one final moment of private reverie.

His soulmate would have no part in his destiny, and his destiny started today.

His soulmate wasn’t even a resident of Skyloft.

Link pulled open the door and headed to meet Zelda at the goddess statue.

 

His destiny so was it, had different plans. The wing ceremony won, a different sensation altogether filled that ache beneath his sternum.

Anticipation.

The tornado hit, and he was out like a light. The nightmares that had plagued him for days all came rushing back to him, and the pearlescent woman leading him within the statue of the goddess was nothing if not dreamlike. Gaepora now spoke of the secret history of the surface, a thing Zelda and he had only humored at, especially in joking of where the dropped gloves of soulmates fell.

And suddenly Link knew that worrying over a soulmate was nothing to base his destiny around. Something greater was coming, the feeling of anticipation building within himself, nestled against the anxiousness and worry. Zelda was missing. Her destiny was now in his gloved hands, too. They were not soulmates, but their fates were entwined more than any romance could weave. Something only the two of them could know, not Skyloft, none of the whisperers or gossipers.

He plunged into the hole in the cloud barrier without hesitation.

 

The anticipation came back full force as he wandered the sealed ground and Faron woods. Fi was with him, explaining the creatures and flora around him, and yet he could barely hear her over his own amazement. Link had to remind himself to not dawdle, to quicken his steps around the labyrinth of trees and vines, as the old woman said he needed to catch up to Zelda in the Skyview Temple. Then, maybe, they could take the time to explore this place. The surface was real! The ambiance was more of nature, more leaves in trees rustling than he’d ever imagined, birds smaller than his palm, the wind whistling but not carrying on any sounds of whispers. Some screeches from bokoblins and keese, yes, but even that was more pleasant than always hearing classmates and their prattle.

Still, as he shot at the vine and swung across, he had to stop and stare into the dark tunnel. Beyond here he could see the treeline growing denser, into the Deep Woods, and he steeled himself once more as he walked through. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, his head swiveling from side to side along the nearly pitch-black walls. He cautiously tossed a look over his shoulder once he was in the cover of shadow, and the feeling disappeared.

The ache grew more intense. He wanted to get Zelda back as soon as possible.

 

Finally, his heart slowed its rapid beating for only a fraction as he got his feet off the dangerous balancing act across the rope. Vines he could handle, as well as the spiders hanging over pools of crystalline water. Ropes hanging over canyons were another story, especially with more bokoblins making their way inside. If those demons were here, had they been chasing Zelda? He knew she was in danger, and thus his fingers slipped over the shaped ancient key before it glowed and fit into the slot. He could sense it now—beyond the door he had to find the ancient spring Zelda must have visited. He hoped she was still there. As the golden doors opened, he was disappointed to be greeted by another circular room. The doors shut, dragging over the century-old stone leaving the room empty yet full of heaviness. His footsteps echoed as he cautiously crossed to where he saw the symbol carved into a golden door.

Link’s heart skipped another beat at the bright flash, having to raise an arm to shield his eyes. Soon it diminished, his eyes adjusting to see a void black sword vanishing into shapes, leaving a figure standing before him. A strange figure, crimson and amber cape flowing even in the stagnant room, was facing away from him to gaze at the door. Their fingers waggled as the sword vanished from them. While Link stared, mystified by the display, the being spoke—

“Well, look who it is.”

Male, then. At this angle it was so difficult to tell. The man turned, and Link realized it was good to hear the voice first—he may have still second guessed himself. His confusion did not lower his guard. The dark look in the other’s visible eye, the other hidden by a curtain of sheer white hair, was unsettling enough for him to remain poised.

“I thought that tornado I stirred up would have tossed and torn you apart, yet here you are. Not in pieces.”

He almost sounded remorseful. Link’s shoulder’s straightened, and he changed his weight over his legs, preparing himself. The tornado that had taken Zelda away, and he had somehow survived—this man was the cause for it? He didn’t want to think about what else the other could achieve. The smile that quirked those painted lips, and the slightest narrowing of wide eyes made Link’s chest burn. He was amused. He even had the gall to turn his cheek to the Skyloftian, speaking to the doorway instead of the boy he had literally just appeared in front of and impeded the progress of.

“Not that your life or death has any consequence.”

The frown on Link’s face deepened. If that was so, why is he spending the time talking? The other creatures infesting the temple had wasted no time. And yet the man carried on—he was hunting Zelda, having plucked her (Her majesty?) from Skyloft. Link’s eyes strayed to the door as well, as if it would explain: why? What had Zelda done to get this weirdo, all those monsters, after her? The anticipation finally bubbled into anxiousness—something was wrong. His stomach was in knots and a sweat was forming over his brow even in the chill room.

“Oh, but listen to me, I’m being positively uncivil. Allow me to introduce myself. I am the Demon Lord who presides over this land you look down upon, this world you call the Surface.”

Link was thankful that the man wasn’t looking at him. He stood, hands to his side, and his left hand began to tremble. The aching he’d felt, the burn in his chest, it almost felt like an illness now. Suddenly, as though kicked in the gullet, he had to inhale shakily as to not gasp in the presence of this new person. He didn’t think that the man’s title was something to warrant a gasp, and yet his body was betraying him. His left hand twitched and it lifted, nearly resting over his heart as the room spun. His weight dispersed oddly, taking an awkward half-step forwards.

The room was stifling, but it wasn’t that. It felt like the walls were vanishing like that sword. Link’s eyes had strayed from the door, where his focus had been set, to retrieve Zelda and fulfill whatever destiny had bound them towards, setting them someplace else.

It was a different pull. His stomach lurched. He remained standing. It felt as though a tether was trying to drag him out of place, or yank his ribcage out trying. Cawlin’s words echoed back in his mind, those muses he had heard at the dead of night. His brow furrowed, but he held strong where he was—

“You may call me Ghirahim.”

He couldn’t stop the gasp at that. The man gave the slightest tilt of his head, his hair sweeping the other way on his face, as if impressed by himself. Link hardly noticed, his eyes widening, and the equilibrium he had maintained thus far fell away like the spider webs he’d cut through his whole way here.

“In truth, I very much prefer to be indulged with my full title: Lord Ghirahim, but I’m not fussy.”

He hadn’t heard it incorrectly. Link took one, two, three steps backwards. His right hand rose to grab the hilt of the goddess sword, as the hilt pinged that faint blue-green.

“Master—“

Link dropped his hand from the sword as if burned, looking at it for a moment, before raising his left. With a breath, his right hand quickly tugged the glove from the other. The name was staring him in the face, in that lacy golden script as if the weight they held were light and holy.

_Ghirahim_

“Master,” Fi repeated, her voice tinkling off the cavernous room’s walls, though Link barely saw them. His eyes were focused on the script, as if searching it for answers. “You’re becoming increasingly distressed by something, I calculate—“

“Fi,” Link’s voice came out hoarse, and while he was still looking at his hand, he saw the crimson silhouette make a slow turn back towards the Skyloftian. Link’s eyes laser focused back to the face of the demon lord. Ghirahim’s lips settled into a smirk, and his chin tilted once again.

“Does my title leave you breathless, skychild? Have you realized how far out of your depth you are in my domain, and not safe up in your clouds?”

“You’re…” Link shook his head, trying to stop the world from blurring around him. When he focused again, the demon lord was taking quiet and dainty steps closer to him. His hand trembled again. He heard Fi’s voice once more, and took another wide step back, forcing the glove back over his hand as he grabbed the hilt of the goddess blade. The lord’s steps stopped.

“Did you really just draw your sword?” He looked uninterested, and yet curious—but not about the sword. “Foolish boy.”

Link focused on keeping his breathing steady, his heart palpitations under control. The man went on to speak again, that Zelda had been rescued by some servant of the goddess, and he could almost breathe easy. He was amazed he had survived. It was a relief to know that she was doing well after falling from the sky. It wasn’t a relief to find himself down here anymore, to a land ruled by demons that got their names written on the back of Skyloftian’s hands. Said demon’s shouts brought Link’s attention back just in time to see the demon vanish. He was already unsettling to look at—Link had no idea how much more unsettling it was to not see him and yet know he was there. That twinge in his chest warned him of such. And then the rumbling voice bounced off the walls, threatening.

And then that same voice next to his ear.

“Still…it hardly seems fair, being of my position, to take all of my anger out on you…”

Link’s eyes crossed over to where that curtain of white hair fell on his other shoulder, more alarmed to see the demon’s eyes trained with deadly precision on his own. Very deadly. The hairs on his neck stood on end again, his vision blurring out the backgrounds around them both, feeling his blood boil, and not in anger, but in proximity to this creature.

His soulmate.

“…I promise up front not to murder you…” His thoughts were in shambles, and it made the other’s voice sound almost apologetic. Pleading. His hot breath was skating across the Skyloftian’s cheek, and by force of will alone he kept his head in place and not turn towards the other like a magnet to the opposite poles. “No, I’ll just beat you within an inch of your life!”

That tongue sent the young boy’s mind flying off in separate directions like Loftwings on patrol, but his feet pivoted him away from the demon and he gripped his sword more tightly. His right hand now felt stronger than his left, and for once he was glad to have the marking etched into his non-dominant hand.

He tried not to think of it any longer—

He held up his blade and prepared for battle.

 

The battle was unlike anything Link had ever been trained for.

On top of the strange feelings welling up and clenching around his chest, the demon lord seemed to be…playing with him. He strut around the circular room, simply raising a hand to the goddess sword, and even catching it between his fingers. It just made Link’s already frazzled resolve more panicked, trying to regain his only defense. After managing to feint his attacks and land a few blows, he changed tact—charging at him as a blur. As he raised his shield, it was simply knocked back into him, bruising his chest from the impact. How could someone that looked so lithe be that strong? Link found himself copying the demon lord’s steps around, keeping his eyes on his enemy, which rose a chuckle from the demon. They waited, baited the other, and struck hard when they could.

With another spinning strike from the goddess blade, the demon lord jumped backwards out of the knight’s reach. He ran the back of his gloved hand over his lip, that curtain of hair disguising if the last sword slash had really drawn blood. He stood up straight in moments, raising his blade to match Link’s several paces away.

“Well…you put up more of a fight than I would have thought possible out of such a soft boy.”

Link tried to keep in his heavy breaths—he really was using all of his strength to land those hits, and he doubted he would be able to keep it up for long. It seemed that this man was more determined to talk than continue their duel, at least for now.

“Don’t clap for yourself quite yet,” Link wondered what his face could have shown to elicit that reply, simply narrowing his eyes as Ghirahim continued. “That sword of yours is the only reason you still live. I fear I spent far too long teasing and toying with you.”

At least he wasn’t far off his estimation before, but he’d thought that maybe he was being taken seriously just before this standoff. The goddess blade’s jewel in the hilt flashed as Ghirahim seemed to lift his blade, but pointed it away from the green-clad knight.

“The girl’s presence has all but faded from this place, which means there’s no reason to linger here. Goodbye, sky child. Run and play this time. Get in my way again, though,” Ghirahim’s voice seemed to raise in pitch, as if he had to consider his next words. Link could still feel that ache in his chest, and he wasn’t convinced it was just the bruised ribs. “And, you’re dead!” Link raised his blade as Ghirahim did the same, but instead of dashing towards the hero, he swung it in an arc over his head. In an instant, he vanished into the same diamonds that the weapon had appeared in. The golden room was silent, other than the rapid beating of his heart and his breathing picking up pace as his panic settled in at the wane of adrenaline.

That was his soulmate, the goddess’s chosen other half.

Fi reappeared from the goddess blade, urging him forward into the spring. Zelda really wasn’t here, and the loneliness of not finding her couldn’t compete with the loneliness that clutched at his heart since the demon lord vanished. That was the most sickening part.

 

He hoped he never crossed paths with him again.

Somehow though, while his and Zelda’s destinies had intertwined, the demon lord and wriggled somewhere in between.

Link watched Fi sing and skate over the spring, restoring her power and retelling all the wonders of the world below. If she knew the distress from early was bubbling beneath his vacant exterior, she paid no heed. As soon as it was done, he wanted to return to the sky, perhaps to stay in his room and pretend that his destiny was as simple as becoming a knight of Skyloft, and never learning why the name of a surface dweller, let alone a demon, had appeared on his hand.


End file.
